A lesson on staying alive

One boy mimicked rolling a joint in a moving car, symbolized by two chairs sitting side-by-side in the church basement. He and the 'driver' had a 'gun,' too, in the form of a chalkboard eraser.

The teacher came up behind them, playing the 'cop,' and told the 'driver' to get out of the car.

One boy mimicked rolling a joint in a moving car, symbolized by two chairs sitting side-by-side in the church basement. He and the 'driver' had a 'gun,' too, in the form of a chalkboard eraser.

The teacher came up behind them, playing the 'cop,' and told the 'driver' to get out of the car.

He did, and the teacher praised him for not reaching for anything and not trying to hide the gun or the drugs.

That's good, because reaching for something will alarm the officer and could spark a violent altercation, said Cecil Ahad, or "Brother Cecil," who teaches the class.

"That's the main thing. The police stop you? Do not reach," he said.

The exercise took place Wednesday in the basement of Family Missionary Baptist Church, 996 Oakwood Ave. on the South Side, exactly a week after two teenage boys were arrested there.

Darrick Dawson, 16, and Jaymie Eugene-Jamar Prince, 17, are accused of shooting Katrel Parker, 16, who collapsed near the church and later died at Nationwide Children's Hospital.

Dawson and Prince ran into the church's weekly Bible study, which includes a track to teach critical thinking skills to at-risk young people so they can avoid getting hurt or in trouble.

The pair had attended the program before, said the Rev. Frederick V. LaMarr, the church pastor.

During the first half-hour of the study, young men sit together with other members of the community in the sanctuary and hear LaMarr relate scriptural passages to the neighborhood.

After the Bible study, the participants go into the basement for a session with Ahad. On Wednesday, he told the young people, about nine young men in their teens and 20s and a few women, to think about how they'll react in certain situations before they find themselves in them.

Ahad is part of an organization called Men for the Movement, which works to improve troubled neighborhoods. He doesn't have formal teacher training but draws on his experiences growing up in inner-city Columbus and his own decades-old criminal background.

He is blunt and direct with the youths: How will you react if someone pulls a gun on you and tells you to get in the trunk of a car? (Best option, he says: Run.)

Stop saying you're a "Blood" or a "Crip" because that's openly identifying yourself with a criminal organization and will be used against you in court.

And, he said, though most police officers just want to go home safe at night, "they gonna be around more. And they will shoot you" if they have cause.

Some of the youths expressed open hostility toward the police, but not Mercedes Searcy, 24, whose younger brother Dominique, 20, was shot and killed in August. A 15-year-old was charged in his death.

"I don't blame (police) for anything they do," Searcy said.

He said he tries to counsel younger neighborhood kids who look up to him. But he's careful about whom he approaches "because there's a lot of guns out there."

One teen in the group said that if he sells a gun on the street to make money, he's not responsible for what the buyer does with it. He also said he wouldn't "tell" on someone even if that person shot a loved one.

That kind of attitude is what LaMarr is trying to fight with efforts such as a monthly anti-homicide march and a weekly community service that usually involves picking up trash in the neighborhood. Some juvenile offenders earn service hours by working with him.

He and a few other men at the church ask parents of troubled students to list them as emergency contacts at school so they can speak directly to teachers.

LaMarr said he often tells teachers, "Look, if you have any problems with him, give me a call."

Once a month, he preaches in the Franklin County Juvenile Detention Center. He accompanies young men to their court hearings.

His office is full of chess boards, and he challenges young men to play him. If a player catches on, he gives him a board to keep.

Back in the basement, Ahad asks how many people in the class have lost someone to gun violence. Everyone raises a hand.